ALBATROSS SEX
by onceuponapurpleplatypus
Summary: An albatross learns that sex is complicated.


ALBATROSS SEX

by Sella Malin and Josh Cake

around 2am on 14 December 2015

Gerald strutted across the beach. He raised his wings, fluttering them in an attempt to lift his clunky body off the ground. _Damn it_ , he thought. _Damn my albatross body_.

Gerald paced angrily, glancing distractedly at his fellow albatrosses scattered across the beach, running up in short lived, futile attempts to launch into the air before crashing down into the sand, spraying it around like tiny explosions. Each burst of yellowish grey powder was another reminder of their aerodynamic failure.

He stepped forward, separating himself from the little stretch of land where he had failed to take off, as if to mentally separate himself, or convince himself that there was a problem with his runway, rather than his wings. As he strained to lift himself off the ground once again, he heard a gentle female voice to his left.

"Are you having trouble too?"

Gerald glanced over, ceasing his run-up in a sprawled flurry of feathers and sliding feet. He was captivated. Her wings seemed to shine, not quite as grey and splattered with mud and sand as the others. While she had clearly rolled around in the sand at least as much as he had in her attempts to take to the air, she held an atmosphere of grace in her wings, gently held aloft, as if she were already soaring in the air.

"No shit."

"I mean, it's hard for all of us. Just trying to be friendly." She turned away with a flick of her tail feathers, and spoke again, as if to the wind.

"The secret is," she murmured, just loud enough for Gerald to hear, "none of the albatrosses failing to fly have ever gotten laid."

With one quick swoop of her wings, she lifted herself off the ground, only to achieve a barrel roll that was as impressive as it was unintentional, landing beak first into the sand.

"As for me," she grunted, muffled by the mounds of sand surrounding her face, "I have never gotten achieved either."

Gerald stared. This was ridiculous. But she might be right. He paused for thought. He wanted to fly. He also wanted to get his freak on. This could be good. This could be great.

"What if," Gerald murmured, inching closer to her as she extracted herself from the surface of the beach, "we could help each other … out somehow?"

She shook her head, ruffling out her feathers, a gust of warm, salty wind preening her as only a coastal breeze can. She smiled a little half smile, one corner of her beak turning upwards.

"I think that you might be picking up what I'm putting down."

"I'm Gerald, by the way."

"Okay."

"I mean … what's your name?"

"You don't need to know that. You just need to know that I'm going to take you to the sky and back."

She moved closer, wiggling her tail feathers seductively. Geraldheart began to race. (Geraldheart is like Braveheart except it's braver because Gerald is courageous. It is difficult to learn to fly and lose your virginity in the same day.)

While Gerald's heart (like Geraldheart but more grammar) was racing, he spread his wings, in an attempt to seem impressive, but they fell back at his sides uselessly, with an exhausted flopping noise. He heard a scoff.

"You don't need to impress me, Gerald. I've already chosen you."

Gerald didn't know what to say. He pecked at what looked like a worm in front of him.

"I've had my eye on you for a while, Gerald. Only one, because it's hard to look at you with both eyes because we are albatrosses and our eyes are a long way apart."

Gerald began to realise that he might not want to sleep with this albatross, but it soon became evident that it was far too late. She was pushing herself firmly beneath him. As he backed away, she ducked out, and he sighed, relieved. A second later, he gasped.

She was on top of him, and firmly inserting a claw inside him. He howled, first with surprise, then with what he thought was pain, but which he soon realised was a wave of deep satisfaction.

"Aren't we … meant to … do a traditional seabird … mating dance … oh god … first?" he gasped.

"This is your dance, motherfucker," she replied, and thrust her entire foot inside him.

He threw open his beak, the salty wind stinging his throat as he gulped in air, fuel for the fire that was building inside him as she forced her foot in and out and in and out and he was losing control…

"What happened?" Gerald blinked. He was lying on his right wing and he couldn't feel it.

"I gave you an orgasm that was too powerful," she smirked. "You passed out from the force of my foot pleasure."

"I guess I like feet?" Gerald ventured, standing up slowly and waving around his wing to regain sensation.

"I guess you do," she replied. "Do you want to try again?"

As the blood rushed back into his right wing, it moved around elsewhere, and he began to feel just how sore he was.

"Not for now, thank you kindly, however, please, thank you, yes mistress." (Please excuse the dialogue. A girl albatross foot fisted a boy albatross and we just don't know any more.)

He took a few steps, pausing to savour the memory of his anal delight (do birds have anuses? Wikipedia is not helping. Please refer to it as bird-hole), before moving fast, and now he was jogging, then running, then sprinting, then flapping his wings, then suddenly the ground that he was pounding with his feet wasn't there any more, and he was in the air, and he was flying and he was free!

And the air was cold up here, and his hole was whistling from where her claw had punctured it. Yet he was far above the maddening, deafening crowd, and as he soared higher, feeling like he could reach the sun himself, he felt safe and he felt free. No one could mount him up here.

He heard a female voice to his left.

"Looks like you're not having trouble any more."

It was her.

"Guess now we've gotten laid, we can fly all dope and shit."

 _Oh no_ , he thought. _She's here_. He squawked loudly and tried his best to spin away from her. The sun was so close now, he could almost taste it. It tasted like bad fanfic descriptions. All of a sudden, she was catching up to him, following in his slipstream, landing on his back, sinking in her claws, and once again, she was inside him. He realised that there was no way to fly without being violated in the bird-hole, time and time again. This is a metaphor for wanting things that you cannot have. You might sort of get them but somebody will have their foot inside your bird-hole.

 _Accept_ , he concluded.

THE END


End file.
